


Icing Over a Secret Pain

by EmmaArthur (EchoBleu)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: 1x03 coda, Alex has self-worth issues, Alex needs a hug, Canon Disabled Character, Disability, How Do I Tag, Inside And Out, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Mild Angst, Negociating new scars, Pre-Sex, and mild fluff, but no smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBleu/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: “I want you,” Michael says.Alex blinks a tear away, and lets himself open that valve, just a little. The pain, and the hope that he's stashed away and pounded on until it was stuck at the bottom of his soul. “I want you too,” he murmurs. “I want this. But I don't know how.”
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 20
Kudos: 145





	Icing Over a Secret Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be the beginning of my Malex Secret Santa fic but it grew into it's own thing, until it was too long and too different in tone.
> 
> Set just after the end of 1x02, in Michael's trailer. Is angsty fluff a valid genre?
> 
> [mentions of abuse and violence, a little self-harm (sort of)]

Alex lets himself get lost in the kissing, in feeling Michael's body pressed to his, so close, finally. It's exhilarating and breathtaking and bitter, stinging. His hands run all over Michael's bare chest without being able to stop, just absorbing the feel of his skin.

It lasts until he lets out an involuntary groan, when the pressure on his leg becomes too much. Alex hates his body for it, as Michael immediately stands back up.

“You okay?” he asks.

Alex sighs. “If we're going to take this any further, I need to−” he gestures vaguely to his leg.

“Of course,” Michael opens his arms, and takes a step back, ending up against the dresser. “I, uh, I didn't−”

He doesn't finish his sentence either, but Alex can hear it. The hint of something−pity? It's not the same, exactly, as what he's heard in everyone else's voice since coming back. But close. Concern. Compassion.

Whatever it is, Alex hates it. As much as he can hate anything that comes from Michael.

He sits back up. This has pulled them right out of the moment, in any case, and only that moment could work for them. There's too much otherwise, too much anger and pent-up emotions. They can't kiss and have sex if they talk, too.

“Nevermind,” he says, dejected. “I'll just−”

“Don't leave,” Michael stops him before he can stand up. “Please.”

“Why?” Alex asks without thinking. He came into the trailer−he used sex to...he doesn't even know, exactly. It's was instinctive, something he never does. He calculates everything. But Michael's words, Michael's _I never look away_ , it rattled him. It shook someplace inside of him that he wasn't sure even existed anymore.

If they talk, he might just find out that it's not real. That Michael doesn't feel that, that his words are just words. Or that Alex...can't. He's going to freak out, mess this up, like everything else.

He's not worried about his father finding them, this time. He's worried about that part of him that's screaming  _wrong bad stop_ will take over.  _Bad for you,_ it says.  _You'll get broken again._

_You'll break Michael again._

Alex almost lets out a whimper at that.

“You're back,” Michael murmurs. “I can't let you go again.”

He has just as much hesitation and pain in his voice. Alex blinks, listens to their breathing for an instant.  Air has just turned cold and hot in his chest.

“Okay,” he says, for lack of a better comeback. Is he back, really? Is he not one foot out the door, like he's always been?

Running is the only thing he's ever done well, but you need two good legs for that.

Maybe it's time to try something else. And Michael is the one person his heart wants to trust so bad.

“What do you need?” Michael asks.

“We'll need to talk,” Alex answers, weakly, beside the point. Michael still towers over him−it doesn't feel like towering.

“What do you need right now?” Michael asks again, patiently. Eager, but not demanding.

“To take care of this,” Alex admits, waving to his leg.

But that's the rub. He's half-hard, it's not difficult to get there with Michael, and they could have...but no, his leg had to get in the way. It gets in the way of everything. It doesn't let Alex forget it, even now that his limp barely show s from the outside.

Michael takes it all in stride, somehow. “Tell me what to do,” he says.

Alex sighs. He didn't think this through, at all. He's the one who brought them there, sitting on this ridiculously tiny bed, inside this trailer that's starting to feel t o o crowded. He didn't think about the things that were in his way, because he's never had to, yet. He hasn't been with anyone since before his last deployment. Since his leg.

He brings his hands up to his belt and−he can't. He can't do this in front of Michael, and even less as a prelude to whatever they might want to do next. He just−

“Alex?” Michael asks, really concerned now.

It's been several minutes, at least. Alex is frozen, time slipping through his fingers with his thoughts. He shakes his head, looking away firmly. His eyes fall on some calculations on a piece of paper, pinned to the wall, and he wonders idly what it means.

“I can't do this,” he murmurs when his vocal cords feel warm enough again. Warmed by the tears blocked in his throat.

He's not back, he decides. Not like this. He'd rather run again.

Limp away again.

Fuck.

Michael seems to make a decision then. For some reason, that decision appears to be to talk this through. “Alex, tell me what's going on in your head. I can't guess, but I want to know.”

“We don't even−” Alex starts in a strangled voice. “We don't even really know each other, do we?”

“What do you mean?”

“We know almost nothing about each other. We never talked.”

Something passes through Michael's eyes, a sort of  _pain guilt fear_ . Alex shakes it off.  If he hangs onto it, he'll run.

“We can talk,” Michael says. “If that's what you want.”

“Maybe? I don't know. When we were together, it felt...beautiful and natural and almost, you know−”

“Cosmic,” Michael murmurs.

Alex doesn't know why it feels so right. “Yes. But it was ten years ago. And so much has changed. Maybe not for you−”

“I lied,” Michael says. “It's different. A lot of it is the same, but...it's different.”

“I'm different,” Alex sighs. “And I don't know if it's...if it can still work. If I can still be...who you want me to be.”

“You already are.” Michael has sat down beside him on the bed, somewhere through their discussion. Alex didn't even notice, really. His stump sock itches, like it's trying to tell him he shouldn't be here. That Michael will see that, and look at him differently. He will. It's inevitable.

That disgust, that fear he sees in people's eyes, he won't stand it in Michael's.

“I'm not,” he shakes his head.

Michael takes a breath. “Alex, are you worried because of your−” he hesitates “−injury, or is it something else?”

Alex shrugs minutely. “Both?” he answers in a too small voice, when Michael just looks at him expectantly.

“What else?”

“There's so much standing between us.”

Michael sighs. “Your father?”

“Yeah, maybe. He doesn't rule my life anymore, but...he's got a long reach. If he wants to hurt you−”

Michael blinks, and catches Alex's hand with his own, taking him by surprise. Alex makes a small noise, but he lets him. Michael doesn't let him go. “Me?” he asks.

Alex looks down, at the scarred hand holding his.

“No, no,” Michael murmurs. “You were−he can't−”

“He can't what? He's hurt you before.”

“I'm not afraid of him!” Michael blurts out, too loud.

Alex flinches, and Michael immediately looks horrified.

They're a fucking mess, aren't they.

“I'm not afraid of him,” Michael repeats, barely above a whisper. “Not for me.”

“He said he would,” Alex responds in kind. He's looking down at their hands, avoiding Michael's face like seeing his reaction will ruin him. It probably will. “He said if I didn't enlist, he'd kill you. And no one would do anything to stop him.”

Michael's eyes widen, enough that Alex can see it from the corners of his own eyes, and before Alex can guess his next move, he bites on his right hand hard. As if to keep from screaming. Or crying. Alex has spend many a night biting his own flesh to keep the sobs quiet.

“Guerin,” he says, hovering his hands. He doesn't know whether to touch him, to stop him. His instinctive reaction is to pull Michael's hand away, but he knows Michael doesn't always react well to touch. Not like that.

Michael scoots away and brings his legs up on the bed. “Michael,” Alex murmurs. He squeezes the hand that he's already holding, hoping that it won't hurt his abused joints. It seems to pull Michael out of it, at least.

“Is that−” he starts. He pulls his now bite marks-covered hand out of his mouth and swallows several times. “Is that why you left?”

Alex knows his freeze is confirmation. He looks away again.

“I thought...you didn't want anything to do with me. That I wasn't worth the trouble,” Michael says.

They're each sitting on one end of the bed now, though they're still holding hands. Connected, but far away. That's what they've been for ten years. Alex has never managed to shake the connection, the thing that links them that he's never quite put words on. _Love_. Yes. _Love pain home._

“I wanted you to be free,” he murmurs. “To live your life without his−my shadow over you. Without threats and pain and−”

“I got those anyway,” Michael closes his eyes. “The largest danger in my life has never been you, Alex. Or your father.”

“You were supposed to leave this place and go to university. I couldn't tie you down.”

“You wouldn't have. You didn't.”

Alex wonders, what did. Michael shouldn't still be here. Neither of them should be here. Why are they?

“You were, you are worth the trouble, Guerin,” he says. Michael looks up at him like he's never heard that before. The eagerness in his gaze tears Alex up. “Any trouble.”

“Does that mean you want...this?” Michael asks slowly.

Alex swallows. “My father doesn't control my life anymore,” he repeats. “But he's still dangerous. And there's a lot that−” he chokes on his words.

He's not the kid who left Roswell anymore. That kid had a heavy heart and two legs and hope and pain and the need to prove something.

Alex has nothing left to prove, but he can no longer catalog everything he's lost. He's broken in ways even Michael cannot mend.

“I want you,” Michael says.

Alex blinks a tear away, and lets himself open that valve, just a little. The pain, and the hope that he's stashed away and pounded on until it was stuck at the bottom of his soul. “I want you too,” he murmurs. “I want this. But I don't know how.”

Michael comes closer again, until their thighs touch. He has a look of _wonder ache concern._

“We can try?” he says, phrasing it like a question. One he's almost afraid to ask.

Alex nods a little. Michael leans in until their mouths meet, one hand sliding up his neck.

The kiss is just as much an explosion of sensations and emotions as always with Michael. Alex reels for a while after they pull away, out of breath.

Michael's hand goes for his belt, telegraphing his moves. Alex doesn't freeze this time, but he does hesitate.

“Alex,” Michael says gently, catching his eyes. “We've both acquired scars since our first time, inside and out. I know that. I want you with all it implies, and I won't shy away.”

Alex lets out a breath. It's a lot to offer, it's too much almost, it scares him. It scares him more than _cosmic._ More than _I don't look away._ For those, Michael doesn't need to know, to _see._

For this, he does.

He closes his eyes, and undoes his belt.

He feels Michael's slight jerk, his sharp intake of breath, when his leg is fully bared.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I don't mean to−”

“No, it's okay,” Alex cuts him off. It really is. He didn't expect no reaction at all, and this is close to the best he could hope for. Michael didn't stumble back in fear or disgust. He hasn't treated Alex like a baby since Alex told him, and he still doesn't now.

“I'll get used to it,” Michael says. “I promise.”

I t's a promise of far more, too.  _I still want you. We'll do this again._

_You'll stay._

Fuck. Fuck.

It's too much for Alex to promise. Unless...unless baring himself, today, right now, when Michael  _knows_ he's the first to see him outside of medical personnel, is enough of a promise. For now.

“I still forget,” Alex confesses. “I still see myself in the mirror and gag. My brain...doesn't want to see my body like that. I can still feel it.”

“The leg?”

“Yes. Phantom limb, they call it. Mostly it's pain, but sometimes I stand up and I forget it's not there.”

Michael puts his hand on Alex's thigh. His good hand. “The prosthesis,” he says. “Can I look?”

Alex nods. Michael's eyes go up and down, still avoiding the place where metal meets sock just a little. After a minute, he finally goes there, like he's made his peace with it. “Nice piece of engineering,” he says. “How flexible is it?”

“You want to talk about my prosthetic leg now?” Alex asks, almost amused. He's too tense to smile, but it sounds so much like Michael that he wants to.

“Maybe,” Michael looks up at him. “Or we can...I want you to be comfortable.”

“Both of us,” Alex corrects him. There's no point in him being comfortable−if he even can be−if Michael is hesitant.

“Do you want to take it off?”

Alex bites his lip. He needs to, really, he shouldn't even have come here with it on. He's gone beyond the eight hours he's supposed to wear it today. And if they want to do anything...well, it will get in the way.

But he also only has the one crutch, which means he'll have to put the leg back on if he wants to go anywhere. And it's not a simple matter of removing it, he needs to wash his stump, and the sock if he wants to use it again. He's supposed to do a massage, too, after taking it off, to keep the muscles from seizing up.

He's gotten used to doing all that on his own, but with Michael to watch him? No. He can't. He...fuck.

“If I do, it means I'll stay the night,” he says.

“I wouldn't be opposed to that,” Michael smiles shyly.

Alex stares back for a moment, then leans down to reach the pin.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! The style is a bit different than my usual stuff, so I'd particularly love some feedback on that, if you want to leave a comment :)


End file.
